


The Western Approach

by Ninshubar



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bigotry & Prejudice, Dalish, Dreams, Dreamsharing, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fen'Harel - Freeform, Hunter and Hunted, Ninshubar - Freeform, Religion, Rogue Lavellan - Freeform, Romance, Sexual Tension, Solas - Freeform, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:59:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3485753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninshubar/pseuds/Ninshubar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Solas asked The Inquisitor what she was like before the breach and her mark, she gave him the simplest answer - but that doesn't necessarily make it entirely true.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> SFW - This is set shortly after the second kiss.

It had been a long time since she had been to the desert regions in the far west of Orlais. The Iron Bull, Blackwall, and Solas joined the dark elf of ebon hair and pale gray eyes for this stretch of the journey. The clan brought some order to the wild place, killing beasts and rogue men alike, and laid claim to many areas in the name of The Inquisition.

Ninshubar was pleasant enough but always guarded, her violet vallaslin for Dirthamen was appropriate to her demeanor. She knew how to deflect conversation and expertly avoid any prying questions. Discretion and privacy were the most important to her but she was good-natured, honest, trustworthy. She'd gained the friendship of her comrades easily, heard their stories, worries, and regrets but none of them knew much about her.

And she liked it that way.

The young Dalish had enough manners to make light conversation during their travels but since arriving in the desert she had become quiet and reflective amongst her comrades. Some days she spoke very little and others days she said not a word at all. She was not morose just simply…respectful, thoughtful, she even appeared to move with a deliberate unrelenting purpose to restore order to this region of Orlais.

The rolling sand dunes that seemed to stretch on forever took the Inquisitor's breath away. The red beauty of the deep canyons would make her want to weep. The heat that kissed her lovingly while it burned the paler others gifted her walnut skin a golden hue. The Western Approach was the most beautiful in all of Orlais to Ninshubar. She loved the warm winds that would blow sand across her face. She missed the cool waters of the oasis that tasted that much more refreshing in the heat of the day. It had been so long since she'd last been here.

Her companions complained but the Inquisitor did not want to leave. Too many fond memories of her clan roaming wild in this endless stretch of land that would would come rushing back to her. At night she would dream she was with them again running through the dunes. In the early morning she would say her prayers, prayers specific to her clan and to this desert, that she had not recited since she was a child. She found herself suddenly remembering them, unable to start her day until she whispered them.

Others seemed to agree that the Inquisitor should be left in her thoughts but one elf knew there was something deeper to Lavellan. This place meant something to her.

Solas would catch flashes of her dream within his own; not clearly at first but the longer they traveled through the western desert the more he could see. Eventually her connection was so strong in the memories of the land that it and her dreams would begin to invade his own. In the Fade, he would see her as he had never seen her before….

She was almost always running with her clan tracking prey that cannot be seen, the memory of it perhaps not strong enough. Her dark hair would trail behind her like a flag in the wind, strong legs in sand colored breeches pumping, chest heaving, yet not a single drop of sweat on her brow. Even with her bow and arrow in hand she is strikingly fast, a bronze flash flanked by two male Dalish among the dunes. She seems so wild, so free with no weight on her shoulders, just the impending kill on her mind.

The young Inquisitor moves in perfect graceful formation with her two rogue partners in the way a pack of wolves run down their prey. All three eventually have a wisp of blue, an unfinished memory of what they were hunting, in their sights. It cannot put up much of a fight. The two males close in with shining daggers while the Inquisitor takes careful aim. In three shots, she misses her comrades, kills the target and the memory is over.

The Fadewalker always kept his distance from Ninshubar when he found himself in her dreams. It was mostly easy, she never seemed to notice him at all but he could watch her without interruption. As long as he kept his mind quiet he was practically invisible to her in this world, he could just be an observer of what she was like before the Breach, before becoming Herald, before her responsibilities. This was her purest form before his very eyes.

Sometimes the draw of her would be too much in the Fade, he would find her in the shade of a towering monolith tending to her bow and quiver after a particularly bloody hunt. Solas gauges that she must have been in her late teen years here or just out of them, on the cusp of womanhood ready to fully blossom, and without the wretched vallasilin tattooed in bright purple across her dusky complexion. Her dark hair tumbles down to the small of her back in a sheet of stark black, bright and shining like obsidian, thick, and bone straight. Solas never realized that her hair was so long, the older version of her kept it up in a tight bun nowadays. He wondered what she would look like if she were let it down now…

He would sometimes dare to get closer to her in his dreams when he found her resting after the hunt in the shadow of the cliffs. Keeping his mind quiet, hidden in plain sight in the Fade, he would observe her high cheek bones, the slope of her forehead, the way her ears pointed up and outwards so severely. She was younger but those narrow gray eyes held the same hardness he would see fall over her on the battlefield…yet, there was still that soft touch of a smile on her full lips as she oiled her bow, skinned her prey, or rested to take refuge from the sun. She found great joy in being a hunter, he could feel her love of the land in her stony gaze.

Solas was amazed by her raw beauty and her primal grace. Almost all of her memories are not about what they were hunting but the simple thrill of the hunt. It is the reason why he can feel her unfettered joy ring through his own body, the reason why the memory of the run through the dunes and the impressive raw power of her hunting skills resonate with him. It is also the first and only time he has seen her so unburdened. She still has that somewhat hardened cat-like face but is this what she is like beneath her obligations? A wild untamed spirit through and through?

Every night for weeks he saw her in the Fade and in the morning he would notice pieces of the old Dalish her awakening. He could see it when they were fighting on the field from the way she held her bow to what shots she would take for the kill. Her usual calculating ways in battle became even more direct, cold, yet somehow expertly attentive. She would have their quarries full of ten arrows before Iron Bull would get to them and knock back enemies before they could even get close to Solas or herself.

He would see it when she would stare into the campfire, her eyes flicking back and forth amongst the flames as if she were reliving a memory again and again. Her spirit that was usually so curious and warm seemed to have quieted and stilled but she was more comfortable in her skin than ever in this wretched heat.

Solas found himself becoming increasingly fond of Ninshubar. He liked the contemplative shift in her mood and enjoyed seeing the wild her in his dreams that she had not shown anyone. He knew it was a privilege to be able to observe two sides of the same coin. However, it is because of this, he also felt compelled to let her know he had seen her dreams and to find the right time to do so.


	2. ii

Days pass...

After a particularly long but progressive day, the clan decided to turn in early leaving Solas alone at the campfire with his thoughts. The requisition officers were out scouting and the desert night was warm, quiet, with only the sounds of the occasional animal and whistling wind on the dunes.

He pondered how he was going to tell her how much she haunted his dreams. How she has ignited something in him since their first kiss in the Fade…but he is afraid of coming off as impulsive again. He wonders if he can restrain himself once he has her away from prying eyes and ears, after he has seen so much of her private beauty. The trance the desert has over her has made her more magnetic than ever.

She was asleep now, he could hear her gentle breath in her tent, and he knows she is dreaming of the hunt. His heart pounds at the memory and he knows that she will invade his dreams again tonight. It should be easy for him to try and move past this, avoid her, stop spying on her memories and her mind but the temptation of seeing her that way is too strong. The elf knows he will not be able to resist once the familiar scene plays out for him once more when he closes his eyes.

“Tomorrow…” he murmurs aloud to no one before kicking sand over the dying fire and retiring to his bedroll near the pit. Tomorrow he will tell her, he has to before this goes any further. Minutes turn to hours as Solas tosses and turns in his makeshift bed, sleep under the stars does not come easily to him tonight. She is waiting for him in the Fade but his mind is racing with how he will present this to her and how he does not want to be tempted to spy on her private memories any longer. No matter how ravishing she appears beyond the Veil.

The sun has yet to appear but the steady rise in temperature hints at the coming dawn. Solas emerges from a frustrating fitful sleep that he has not had in ages. It has been some time since anything has occupied his mind so fully that the embrace of the Fade evaded him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he notices a new pair of footprints have emerged in the sand from the Inquisitor's tent but not from the others.

She is awake and wandering the desert alone. This is his chance.

Solas follows her trail with quiet purpose and hope that she hasn't wandered far. He can feel her fractured thoughts with every step he takes in her prints. Nostalgia, longing, pride, joy, and finally remorse. His brow furrows as the trail of her emotions grow stronger - it puzzles him. In Skyhold, the Inquisitor appeared to always be able to keep her tone soft and her emotions guarded. Perhaps she wanted to appear more level headed and civilized under the eyes of the shemlen when underneath was simmering feral rawness. The familiarity of the area had sent her emotions to a near boiling point, never had she been so easy to read before they came to this place.

As he follows her trail the lay of the desert becomes very familiar, they are near her favorite resting spot in her dreams. In the distance he can see jutting rocks, the sharp dip of the canyon, but no sign of his prey. Solas looks down at the foot steps she left behind, they turn back as if she were returning to camp but he knows this is a lie. She has covered her tracks in the sand and made new ones should someone follow her but he knows better. She is there and she is waiting.

Crossing the dunes, he finds her there standing at the edge of a cliff looking out into the deep crags of the canyon below. Dawn should be coming soon but for now it is still dark and the stars seems to shine brighter than ever. With her back to him she is completely dressed in her black and tan leathers, bow at her feet, black hair is tied up into her usual tight bun. Not a strand out of place. Solas is unsure if she is aware of his presence but she is too utterly magnetic and beautiful against this desert backdrop to resist. He finds himself taking tentative steps in her direction, approaching with caution and respect.

“Solas…” she whispers to the wind, he almost did not hear her, “could you truly accept me? Where I come from? Who I am?”

He does not respond, there is a strain in her voice that he was not expecting.

“I wonder…” she murmurs again, “if none of this had happened, would you still have accepted me. A wild Dalish girl who wanted nothing more than to hunt with her brothers in her clan’s new homeland. The Inquisition was forced on me and I chose to endure…but that’s not who I am.”

Solas places his hands gently on her shoulders in support but he can feel her stiffen beneath his touch. Does she really believe that he could not possibly love her?

“Under ‘The Inquisitor’ I am Ninshubar of Lavellan but even under that I am just Ninshubar. When we arrived here, I realized that you have only seen The Inquisitor,  _vhenan_ …I must let you see who I really am. I must let you see Ninshubar.”

He squeezes her shoulders tightly and she looks over at him. Her narrow eyes are misty with tears, the pale gray color of them have turned watery, her cheeks are flushed. It is easy to tell that before he had arrived she had been weeping quietly to herself. Ninshubar turns away from him abruptly and he can feel her shoulders shaking.

"I lied on the balcony…" she confesses, her voice clear and serious, "though I can lie so freely to others I cannot lie to you. I am afraid - "

" _Vhenan_ …"

"I am afraid that you will not like Ninshubar. That you will find her too wild and her spirit too difficult. For the others, I wear this mask of tranquility and wisdom but…before this I was a hunter for Lavellan and before that I was hunting in this desert with my brothers. This place was my home despite its reputation, I loved and pined for it all the time - "

She breaks off her sentence suddenly, perhaps feeling ashamed that despite all Solas taught her about how what the Dalish believed was wrong she still could not let go. On the surface she showed curiosity and acceptance about his revelations during their long talks. Yet, in the back of her mind, she perhaps hated him for making her feel like he was harshly dismissing her culture that was so much part of her. Remembering this hardens the Inquisitor and her shoulders droop beneath his touch. The young elf wipes away tears while attempting to side step him to leave quickly.

He does not let her go, the apostate blocks her with his own broad body to keep her from escaping. This was the most she'd spoken the entire trip and he was touched that she chose to share her words with him. Solas cannot help but pull Ninshubar into his embrace and press his forehead affectionately against hers. His strong hands caress her jaw, hold her neck aloft and a flurry of elvish words come flooding to the tip of his tongue. He wants to tell her so much that the common tongue has no language for. It would be another terrible mistake if he let her walk off thinking he could not love her when she was her most Dalish.

"Your dreams invade mine, _vhenan_ ; your connection to this place is so strong. It was a welcome surprise to see you so uninhibited -"

"Solas!" she interrupts, the tone in her voice and the look in her eyes horrified. He can feel her delicate hands push against his chest in protest but his grip only becomes stronger, he can only hold her tighter:

"I have seen you in my dreams,  _vhenan_. I have seen you resting in the shade of these cliffs. I have seen you hunting with your brothers. I have seen you as I have never seen you before…wild, happy, free. If that is what it means to you to be Dalish then how could I fault you for your happiness?"

"Solas…" she has stopped struggling in his grasp, her fingers gripping his tunic tightly despite her soft breathless voice.

"I would have you even then,  _vhena'sulahn_. If I were to meet you today and you were still a wild Dalish, I would do anything to tame you - "

"Tame me!?" Ninshubar's voice dips to a growl he did not know she was capable of reaching and she burrows her head in his chest. Her hair smells of sand, sun, and salt - a natural musk that betrays her true resilient and wild nature. "There is no taming me, Solas. Never."

The wolf in him is amused by this  _challenge_ , this sudden display of dominance from the young elf woman. Perhaps she is untamable but what did that mean to him? It was after all her unyielding will, her hardened resolve, and her magnetic primal grace that captured him in the first place. Never did he think he would meet a spirit so much like his own.

" _Ir abelas_ , I caused you to feel ashamed of yourself because of my careless words. It was selfish of me."

 Her lips are so close now and he so badly wants to lean in to her but he holds back, as does she. His gaze turns to her slate-gray eyes and she is looking directly at him with a fierceness he has only seen in the Fade. Her hard stare is probably meant to intimidate him but his lips curve back into a knowing smile. She was looking at him almost like prey,  _how exciting._

 "If I am invading your dreams so much, _lethallin_ , make yourself known. I do not care to be spied on."

She pulls away sharply and he lets her, watching her make light steps in the sand as she makes her way back to camp. After a few paces he follows, giving the Inquisitor her space as the sky becomes tinged with the purple, pinks, and golds of the coming sunrise. Ninshubar was more sensitive than he thought, more secretive than he realized. So many layers to this woman that he wanted to peel back with his hands and teeth to savor and revel on his thirsty tongue.


	3. iii

In the Fade, she is soft and willing.

After their talk at dawn, Solas made it a point to make himself known in her dreams. It seemed that no matter where they went, Ninshubar’s connection to the desert was undeniably strong. When he closed his eyes all he could see was her lithe dark frame against golden sand dunes.

Sometimes she would acknowledge him in her dreams, other times she did not. In the mornings they never spoke about meeting each other beyond the Veil. They would eat, set out for the task of the day, return to camp or castles they occupied, and rest peacefully.

After a few nights of her mostly ignoring him, Ninshubar began to acknowledge Solas in the Fade more often. He would often lay his head down and find her almost waiting for him in the sands, perched atop canyons, or hiding in the shadows of dwarven ruins. Sometimes she would follow about twenty paces behind him as he explored the Fade, sharing in his experiences with other long forgotten memories of the Western Approach.

Things like this are easier for him in the Fade and apparently they were easier for her too. It wasn’t long until the Inquisitor began to approach him directly.

They would walk hand in hand through the desert mostly in silence, here and there she would point out important spots to him. Here is where she and her brothers brought down a varghest. Over there is where a now dried up oasis used to be. This place is best for getting away from the heat of the day.

Little by little she began to reveal herself to him…and he drank it all up.

In the Hissing Wastes they shared a dream that was a little different than the others. As usual, Solas slept beneath the stars while the others retreated to their tents. He was nearly asleep before he had even fully settled himself on his bedroll. After all, Ninshubar was waiting for him beyond the Veil.

Upon slipping into the Fade, Solas found himself standing before dark structures of long forgotten dwarven ruins built into a canyon wall. In this memory, it was still the dead of night; all the light that was provided was made by the silver moon and shining stars. The apostate turned slowly to scan his surroundings. Aside from the ruins, the desert was quiet, empty, the only movement made by the occasional warm gust carrying a flurry of white sand. Ninshubar had yet to appear but he could feel her presence and practically smell her natural womanly perfume…

A pair of delicate brown hands and willowy arms encircle his torso in a tight hug from behind, she giggles, “ _Vhenan…”_ playfully and presses her little breasts into his back. Even in the Fade the salty smell of her sweat invades his senses, Solas can barely hold back the low growl of pleasure in his throat.

“Where have you brought me tonight, _eralin?”_ His voice was low, betraying hints of that wanton rumble that he managed to suppress moments before. 

Ninshubar’s grip tightens around him and she presses her body firmly against his back in response. He can feel her little fingers dig into his tunic, her hard nipples through her leathers, and he must fight the urge to turn round and kiss her hard. The elven rogue gets on her toes to whisper in her apostate’s ear:

“This used to be where I would hide from my brothers when I wanted to be alone.”

Her voice is like a crooning whisper, he can feel her warm breath tickle the nape of his neck. A small smile comes to settle on his lips even as she pulls away completely and he turns to study her.

She is wearing her tan and white leathers, armor that she made herself at Griffon Wing Keep that hugs her strong but lithe body tightly. She is without her weapons or the linen hood and cape to shield herself from the sand. Her ebon hair is pulled up into its usual tight bun; indigo vallaslin nearly unnoticeable against her earthy skin in the shadow of the ruin. Yet, her narrow gray eyes sparkled sharply in the dark, a mischievous glint held in them.

The hunt was on.

“My brothers did not like this tomb in particular,” she says calmly, taking a step back as Solas took one forward in her direction, “it is always sheltered from the sun and completely hidden from the dunes at night. They thought it was cursed.”

As she spoke, the elven mage and rogue circled each other in front of the tomb’s massive doors. Solas with his hands crossed casually behind his back; Ninshubar with a light gait that suggested she might bolt should he reach for her.

“I have heard of Dalish clans believing that a spirit cannot rest if the sun never shines on their grave.”

“A superstition some of us have in common – but in this heat, I will always choose the coolest place no matter where it is.”

They both break into a grin as they continue this game of who will reach out to who first, who will corner who first. Ninshubar, agile as she is, seems to be an expert of evading even his most subtle advances. This does not surprise him, Solas will play her little game.

“Privacy was important to you even then, _vhenan?_ ”

“Before the Inquisition I was very much a loner, Solas. I carry Dirthamen’s vallaslin,” Solas feels the quick rise and fall of anger when she reminds him of her markings, “because I became quiet, withdrawn, and ‘secretive’ once we were driven out by the White Claw Raiders.”

For a moment, the two stop sizing each other up and Ninshubar becomes lost in the memory. The atmosphere in the Fade ripples around him, he can feel her deep sorrow and hurt by the loss of this land.

His suspicions have been confirmed, building the Inquisition’s presence here veiled her personal vendetta to drive out the White Claw Raiders and Venatori alike. It was the reason why she chose to have the varghest populace moved to a new water source instead of eradicated. All of this, all of her choices she made here because she wanted the Western Approach respected and put to good use.

“My brothers embraced the Lavellan clan we joined but it was harder for me – I felt we betrayed our land and everything it had taught us. I did not speak for months and would often run away for weeks into the forest. The Lavellans called me ‘ _dorf’inan_ ’ and gave me Dirthamen’s vallaslin.”

Solas takes the moment to slowly close the space between them, as she talked it was all coming together for him and he admired her even more. This woman’s resilience and unbreakable will certainly earned her the Mark, only a person with that kind of character could hope to wield it as well as she has.

Though she is inches from him now, he resists the urge to reach out and touch her. Not yet.

“This was not a pet name nor a mark on your face that you wanted was it, Ninshubar?”

“No, _vhenan_.”                                                                       

“Had you the choice, which would you have chosen?”

She looks up at him then, her eyes searching his but not betraying that she did not realize he had grown so close to her. The elven woman backs away from him again and runs her hands back over her smooth forehead toward her tight bun.

 “I don’t know…maybe Andruil, maybe no vallaslin at all. There is no elven god connected to this place, the land was who I served. When we were here I did not think about it but the Lavellan clan kept insisting that I should please our Gods so…I endured.”

 Solas can no longer hold back, he reaches for her quickly and cups her delicate face in his hands. His thumbs trace the purple vallaslin that mark the curve of her high cheek bones and the slope of her straight nose. Leaning in, the apostate presses his forehead against hers and inhales her scent deeply. He likes the wild Ninshubar. He likes that she smells of sweat and sand even in the Fade, it only thinly veils a perfume that is distinctly hers. Distinctly Ninshubar.

In the distance, he thinks he hears her whisper his name in that breathy voice she does when he gets this close to her. She had not forgotten the game entirely but she did nothing to evade his grasp. If anything, she invited him further into her own embrace by twirling her fingers around his collar to pull him closer. 

The Fadewalker knew that he should end it here, the increased intimacy and intensity beyond the Veil may attract a demon…but she was just so soft, willing, yielding. A side to herself that she perhaps only felt comfortable revealing to him in the Fade. She tilted her head upwards, full lips inches from his own while also displaying the slender curve of her brown neck. She lets out a small sigh:

“My brothers and the Lavellan clan used to say that if I visited this tomb one too many times or if ran off from the clan for far too long…they would not be surprised should the Dread Wolf snatch me - ”

He kisses her hard then, crushing his mouth against hers with a low primal growl that sends a thrill through the young rogue. She has never heard him make a sound like that. Before she can react, he has her pinned against the cold dark metal of the tomb’s doors. There is no where for her to side step him this time but she would not dare try to escape his grasp even if it wasn’t entirely real.

Solas is a hungry kisser, firm, aggressive yet somehow affectionate and curious. His teeth nip at her lips playfully and his tongue expertly seeks her own to taste her fully, lovingly. Her little hands cup his jaw to pull him in closer, her fingers even tugging on the base of his ears to show she is just as eager for this as he is.

In the back of his mind, Solas believes he can stop this now. Make them wake up. Apologize to her for taking advantage of her trust again in the Fade. Warn her of the dangers of them engaging in such activities and what it could bring…

But suddenly she pulls away and they are both gasping for hot dry air to fill their lungs. With Ninshubar’s back against the iron doors her gray eyes flash in the darkness, her already full lips appear to be swollen, brown cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, her usually perfect bun disheveled. He remembers when he first saw her in the Fade, how it fell to the small of her back as dark as the night sky.

Placing his hands on the doors at either side of her head, Solas whispers, “Let your hair down, I want to see you.”

Ninshubar hesitates at the command but she obeys, her narrow gray eyes never leaving his the whole time. She has not had her hair down since leaving the Free Marches out of fear of appearing “too Dalish” for the shemlen to trust her within the Conclave. Her nimble fingers pick the disheveled bundle of hair apart and it tumbles down, thick and black as when he first saw her in the Fade.

The young rogue attempts to push away fallen strands that cover her face but Solas interrupts her with a soft, “Let me,” and his own gentle touch. With her hair down she looks younger, more cat-like in the face but a lot less severe, her black hair frames her high cheek bones and soft puckered lips perfectly. She looks like a ripened fruit waiting to be plucked and devoured.

Cupping her face with one hand he draws her in for another hungry kiss while the other slides itself under her plump little ass. His knee firmly pushes her thighs apart, earning a gasp against his lips when he uses this same knee to prop her up against the doors. Ninshubar purrs as her thighs tighten around his hips and her bare feet swing in the air. Both of the Fadewalker’s hands grip her bottom and her little fingers grasp the collar of his tunic to pull him in for a deeper kiss.

 This is not appropriate for the Fade but neither party can help themselves now.

Solas presses himself firmly against her, grinding his sheathed erection between her quivering thighs. Even through his breeches and her leather leggings, she can feel the swell of him and she hungers to feel his skin. Her nimble hands slip beneath his tunic to feel the scant trail of hair down his navel and a flush of warmth excites her. She traces patterns in his chest with her nails, lightly scratching the smooth skin and earning another growl from her lover. This excites him, she knows it, and nips his bottom lip sharply with a feral grin.

 Just because she was soft and willing in his hands did not mean she was helpless.

 Solas’s grip on her ass tightens in turn. It isn’t long before he found himself gripping the waistband of her leggings and pulling them down roughly to expose soft pliant skin. Ninshubar releases a hiss of shock, a flash of panic betrayed in her eyes before her expression darkens considerably. How dare he handle her so roughly? The mage grins and nuzzles the nape of her neck tenderly, his warm hands palming her cheeks making up any misgivings she had at first.

Nose buried in her brown skin, he inhales deeply; he can get the essence of her even in the Fade. Thick golden honey, salt, and sun. His hands lower themselves over her plump ass possessively and she squirms in his grasp, attempting to get his fingers to graze her heated sex. She’s so excited, she’s clawed her way down to his breeches, pulling greedily at the laces holding them together. Her breath and pulse have quickened, thighs have tightened around his hips, bare feet locked by the ankles at his back. 

She almost has his breeches open when he presses his broad body flush against her, affectively immobilizing her hands between them. She barely has anywhere to move and his closeness is almost overwhelming but comforting. When they are this close, he can’t help but betray his increasing arousal to her. She can feel his heart beating as fast her own, hot breath on her sensitive ears, a growing erection at her finger tips.  

The apostate is struggling with control, it has been too long since he has been this excited in or out of the Fade. He knows that he should be doing this properly, outside of the Veil but she is just so tempting here. Soft and inviting, even when she’s biting his lips and clawing at his skin sharply yet affectionately. She is a wild creature, she would try to mark him in the Fade as hers.

His long fingers graze her sex finally, finding her warm and slick to the to the touch. Growling, Solas pulls away to press his forehead against Ninshubar’s, challenging her to meet his gaze as his fingers explore her folds. Stormy blue meets a steely gray darkened with raw lust, her cheeks are flushed, her mouth slightly parted to exhale pants and soft moans. He can barely believe that he’s doing this, sliding his fingers in and out of her heated sex, exploring her slick folds, rubbing on her little clit.

Ninshubar quivers beneath his touch, unable to hold back her moans of pleasure as the Fadewalker begins to learn where she likes to be touched. He props her up a little higher for easier access into her leggings, putting a little more distance between them in the process. The hunter seizes the opportunity to slide her hand into Solas’ breeches, making him utter a grunt as her fingers curl around his swollen shaft. It’s a little clumsy for her in this position but the pleasure on his blushing face is apparent.

Neither of them will back down from the challenge of meeting each other’s gaze. Here and there one’s eyes will flutter with pleasure, the other squeezing them shut only for a moment, but always they come back to each other. Reading reactions, gasps, and moans with each soft touch and firm stroke of their fingers.

Solas takes a delicate approach with his little Dalish woman, opting to rub her clit softly to spare her the pain and award only the pleasure of his calloused fingertips. Ninshubar is a little more eager and more aggressive with her Fadewalker. Her smaller hands can barely get around the length of him but she strokes him firmly, taking care to squeeze at the tip. Each milking stroke of her grip earning a groan or deep moan from Solas. 

In the end, it is Ninshubar who cannot keep her concentration; the mage is simply too seasoned a lover in comparison to the young hunter. Her hand has abandoned his hard cock to grip his tunic tightly, twisting the fabric in her fingers as she squeezes her eyes shut. She is lost in a world of pleasure, the mage’s fingers aren’t even glittering with magic yet her pussy is dripping wet in his hands. The desert becomes still and quiet in the Fade, like the land is holding its breath lest it disturb the couple. All that can be heard are the hunter’s pants and squeals, the slick sound of her pussy being pleasured by Solas’ hand, and the pounding of blood in their ears.

She is so close, just a little more and she will…

 “ _Nu-nuvenin…ir…”_ Ninshubar pants between moans, grinding her hips eagerly against her lover’s expert fingers. He obliges her with increased pressure and a faster pace round that sensitive bundle of nerves, watching her with a little smirk on his lips when she sings his praises.

“ _Garas, ma vhenan,”_ Solas encourages her in a flurry of elvhen against her lips, delighting in her grasping at his tunic desperately and the rocking of her hips against him, _“garas na halam.”_

The apostate knows that his lover is close to her climax, it is not just her pleading moans that signal this but the feeling of her walls tightening around his plunging fingers as well. Ninshubar can barely take it, his kissing her neck, his talented digits, that tightening coil in her stomach until finally it comes. A heady sigh followed by a wanton throaty moan escapes her lips as warm ecstasy spreads from her inner core down to the tips of her toes.

She’s shivering in his arms, grey eyes misty in the afterglow, and she never looked to him so blissfully beautiful…

Ninshubar awoke with a start in the dry heat of the early morning, her skin cooled and dampened with a sheen of sweat beneath thin sheets. Still panting, the young elf clutched her modest chest, willing and failing to calm her wildly pumping heart. That dream…it felt so real and just so good! She was amazed to find when she reached between her legs that her small clothes were soaked, a final testament and reminder of the apostate’s talents in the Fade.

But…had that been Solas in her dreams? Or was it her own imagination run wild, making him exactly what she wanted in a man. What she daydreamed he’d be like…

The heat began to rise in the tent, she heard the others and the scouts stir in the sands outside.  A reminder of her duties, a reminder that she shouldn’t let an erotic dream to distract her so.

The lithe elf jumps up briskly from her bedroll, wipes down her body and between her legs with a bowl of water that has already warmed from the heat. Even so, she feels a bit cooler and refreshed and the dream of her lover’s talented fingers is pushed to the back of her mind.

There is much to be done and little time to worry about whether or not her dreams were real.


End file.
